


That's Not Home (You Are)

by woozdum



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Space and Aliens and Stuff lol, its a buddy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woozdum/pseuds/woozdum
Summary: “I’ve got three minutes, two strangers, and far too much confidence that this will work. So now the only question is, do you two trust me to get us out of here alive?”While humans are expanding out into the galaxy, three boys are just trying to find their way home.





	That's Not Home (You Are)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! this is my VERY LATE submission to the maknaeline fest from three months ago. I want to thank the mods for being patient with me! If you recognize some of the building of this world (universe?) and characterization from Doctor Who S8E5, you would be on to my trick because I did in fact use that episode to help me build this story. I've never written hvc or lc as main characters in a story so I was never sure how to proceed with this but I hope I got it right and that you enjoy this fic. 
> 
> Happy Reading!

The piercing screech of the alarm halts, and just for a second, they think they might be safe.

 

_ “Self-destruct sequence initiated in T-minus five minutes.” _

 

“Alright,” He rubs his hands together dramatically, pulling down a lever with boyish flair, “I’ve got three minutes, two strangers, and far too much confidence that this will work,” He turns a knob three clicks to the right and turns to face the two startled boys, “So now the only question is, do you two trust me to get us out of here alive?”

 

He frowns instinctively and, before either one can open his mouth, turns back towards the malfunctioning system, “No, wait. Don’t answer that. Stupid question. Only an absolute idiot would-“ The alarm starts blaring, the room tinted with periodic flashes of red. 

 

Something explodes behind as Seungkwan decides that he needs to act. 

 

Fast. 

 

Fiddling with the console a bit more, pressing buttons and flicking switches up, down, left, right, he takes a good look at the shellshocked pair beside him. They are scared, and he feels this overwhelming urge to protect. It’s different, foreign but certainly not unwelcome. 

 

The three boys look at each other, before taking off towards the exit. With the extraction pods gone, the space vessel is empty save for the three of them, yet they still, perhaps foolishly, follow him through the corridors. Maybe they really do trust him to get them out of before they’re blown up into bits and pieces with their sanctuary. If they died, at least they would have die with faith and trust in their hearts.

 

It’s a morbidly reassuring thought.

 

One of the boys, the shorter one, stops abruptly, face adopting a look of hopelessness.

 

“What’s the point of running? There’s no exit, the Colony took all the pods,” he says, barely winded but incredibly panicked. Seungkwan can’t help but be envious as he bends over, heaving. “We’re going to die here, aren’t we?”

 

Seungkwan hisses, but before he can say anything, the third boy jerks around, “Shut up, Chan. We’re going to be fine. We just need to get out of here. Easy.” 

 

Seungkwan stands up straight, having caught his breath, “Besides, what’s wrong with running? I love running. From trouble, from danger, from my feelings. ‘m practically an expert.” He lets a grin creep onto his face, almost diabolical as he feels that familiar thrumming in his body as he plans. 

 

“See?” Not-Chan grins, “Easy.”

 

And while Chan looks unconvinced, Seungkwan thinks he might be pacified for the time being. It’s better that way. Giving up is only a means to an end and frankly, it’s unproductive and hurts team morale.

 

Seungkwan grins to himself. He has a  _ team _ .

 

_ “Self-destruct in T-minus two minutes.” _

 

The boy, Chan, yelps, “Oh, fuck, we’re gonna die.”

 

“Not if we run,” Seungkwan shouts, tearing forward, listening to the pitter patter of their footsteps behind him. 

 

The bunker is empty, all the vessels gone, but that’s not what he is looking for. 

 

“Okay,” He whirls around, “Your people are smart, they take the escape pods because it secures oxygen and has a built in life support system that will sustain them until they reach their landing coordinates. But that means they’ve left something behind.” His eyebrows furrow, the answer just out of his reach, “Logically, they would have preserved tech from the exploration, before settlement. Spacesuits and surveillance ships, something of the like. So,” his eyes dart around, searching, “what we’re looking for, gentlemen, is a rocket- Well, actually, less like a rocket, more like a shuttle. Probably won’t get us to the new settlement, but it will get us away from here, so let’s start looking shall we?” 

 

His eyes dart around before he makes an odd gurgling noise and points to the dingy looking spaceship. It’s likely out of commission, but he’s desperate to try saving these kids, and that won’t fail him, not today. 

 

“Well, c’mon kids, we’ve got places to be and we really can’t be there if we’re all broken about, scattered into space, now can we?”

* * *

Chan watches from the small window as the Sanctuary erupts into flames, and his heart drops. In the blink of an eye, his home has been taken from him. And sure, Hansol can spew that crap about how  _ the place isn’t the home, the people are  _ but his people have been taken from him as well. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth yet he sits, watching the odd man with the curly hair and the rounded face steer through the stars.

 

There isn’t enough fuel for them to get anywhere, the Sanctuary was built too far from neighboring planets, a means of protecting mankind from another invasion. 

 

“We should have just died in there, instead of drifting off aimlessly in space. We won’t even have enough oxygen to last more than three days.” He mutters bitterly, mostly to himself. 

 

It must not have been quietly enough, because the odd man snarks back, “If you want to die, feel free to open the hatch and show yourself the door. Just means more air for me and Sparkly Eyes over here,” he jerks his thumb at Hansol, who mouths  _ Sparkly Eyes _ to himself in confusion. “However, if you want to stop whining, we can discuss our next course of action while you plug into the ship mainframe and recharge.”

 

Chan startles, instinctively slapping his neck, where his output plug is, trying to cover it.

 

“I know an augmented human when I see one,” the man continues, “Part computer, part human, but complete and total grumps. Never really understood why.” 

 

Chan shuffles over reluctantly, “You never understood why an entire group of people deemed unworthy by society, who had to subject themselves to experimentation just to be deemed of value while literally being stripped of their humanity, are grumps?” He gives the man -though, maybe, man is not the right word as he doesn’t seem that much older than Hansol or himself-  a hard stare, even as he does as he’s told, pulling the wire out of his neck and plugging it into the shuttle.

  
It’s silent for a moment, save for Hansol’s whispered humming and his system syncing up to the ship’s. 

 

“I always thought that a person’s humanity couldn’t be taken away, that you have to give it up yourself,” the man’s voice sounds grave but not condescending, yet it forces this bubbling sensation to take over him anyway, because how dare this man, this  _ normal _ , privileged man, speak so self righteously to him. 

 

“Yeah, well, what do you know anyway?”

 

Hansol clears his throat, “C’mon Channie, we’re floating in the middle of space, let’s just play nice, okay?” He pats Chan’s knee twice, but leaves it there. It’s reassuring, comforting, just as Hansol has always been, “Besides, we don’t even know who you are.” He cocks his head at the stranger piloting the ship, and Chan looks over too. 

 

He was observing them, a small smile on his face. “I’m just a man with a dingy spaceship. No one interesting. But you, Hansol, was it? Who are you? A meta, no doubt. Though I suppose your people prefer genetically mutated? Or, maybe, it’s genetically enhanced. Can’t really keep up with the locals, your colloquialisms always change. Why is that?” He barely blinks before turning back to the dash, “Never mind that, what are your powers, Hansol? 

 

“I met one of your folk once, his name was Wonwoo, he had a tail. Kind of anti-climactic, if you ask me, but who am I to judge?”

 

Hansol shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t like to talk much about his mutation, not that anyone really did back in the Colony. There was a caste system set in place, putting non-modified peoples at the top, the ones who came from wealth and power back on the home planet. Those lucky enough to pass, did so in shame, for survival. The propagated history taught in schools did not do justice to the horrors shared through their legends, their stories. 

 

Hansol has never been able to truly reconcile with his upbringing. He’s too good to just accept it point blank. Classified as a half-breed mutant, he was fortunate enough to never look it, the way some do. No physical indicator of his abilities, and so, to the untrained eye, he was as normal, as top-tier as they come. Chan knows he’s never liked it, never speaks about his past because he feels it diminishes his worth. Instead, he worked hard in the Colony to serve and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. 

 

It’s how they met. 

 

The odd man is staring at them the rearview mirror, expectantly. His questions are invasive, curious beyond concern, and it puts Chan on edge. 

 

Hansol thinks for a moment, looking him over before humming. “I don’t have physical mutations. Well, I do, but my hair covers the horns. I can manipulate emotions, make people susceptible to my suggestions. I, um, I don’t use it though.”

 

“Well, no, I would imagine you wouldn’t. A good man like you, you’re better than that.”

 

A smile inadvertently appears on Hansol’s face. It’s nice, Chan thinks. Hansol deserves such happiness.

 

They’re quiet after that, not really talking, not really moving, and when Chan checks his internal clock, he realizes it’s only been a two or three hours of them drifting in space. 

 

He clears his throat, looking back to make sure Hansol is not paying attention. He’s asleep, mouth parted slightly and hair falling into his eyes enough that the top of his right horn peeks through the strands. 

 

“Hey, um,” he speaks quietly, so as to not startle anyone, and the man simply hums to indicate any acknowledgment. “I’m going to be really honest with you for a second, and you may not like it but I think I should be clear about where I think we stand.” 

 

He watches as the man’s back straightens, squaring slightly, as though he is interested, but never defensive. 

 

He supposes now is as good a time as any to just blurt it out.

 

“I don’t trust you.” He says quickly, bluntly “I’m incredibly grateful to you for saving our lives, and for doing all of this for us, but I don’t trust you. I don’t know anything about you. You couldn’t even give us a name or a classification, but I don’t see any branding on you, so I think you’re non-modified, which doesn’t really help with this whole trusting thing. Still though, you saved us, and I’m in your debt. I just can’t pretend that we’re friends, or that I’m okay with your constant questions, or that you won’t tell us anything about where we’re going or what you were doing still on the Colony to begin with. 

 

“But it’s okay, because I don’t need to trust you. Hansol does, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s the only person that matters,” he turns back to look at the older boy, curling up into a ball on the floor to retain heat, “All I ask, is that you don’t let him down.”

 

They share the silence that ensues. It’s comfortable, healthy even. 

 

“I don’t make promises, they frighten me. Commitment is far too oppressive, takes hold of you and never lets go. Expectations are a bit like that too, I suppose. Disappointing, debilitating, never ending.” He isn’t looking at them, but the weight of his words settle around them, unmoving but still present. He turns to Chan, “I can’t give you any promises. But I can give you, however, some advice. Being lonely is a dangerous thing. It’s lucky you and he have each other. Stay together, protect each other. It’s always better to be with others than to be alone.” 

 

The silence between them is constricting, preventing Chan from saying words. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between sorrow and pity, instead.

 

It’s not that Chan has many fond memories of home, but it’s all he’s ever known. His little house in the outskirts of the town was happiness. It wasn’t easy, charging ports were far and few between, too expensive to install on whatever salary mods were entitled to. He was lucky that his parents invested in an older model, one that took a few hours to get to full charge, but it got the job done. His life was neither secure nor lavish, but it was comfortable and friendly. People would stop by to charge, and the town would chip in to pay the consequential electricity bill that followed every month. It was a good system, a communal, integrated sort of happiness. 

 

But he’s always had people. If he closes his eyes, he can still see the dirt tracked throughout the streets, hear the sounds of shoes squeaking as kids played, can feel how quickly the gossip travels, how the Colony is evacuating and they are being left behind. He’s overwhelmed by panic, suffocated by helplessness as the only life he’s ever known that starts breaking at the seams. 

 

The man blinks, staring back at Chan with careful deliberation. “And to answer your other questions, I suppose we’re more similar than you’d care to admit. I don’t trust you either. But, perhaps, when I do, I will answer all your questions. I would like to, you know. Trusting you and your friend, it seems safe, easy,” His smile is small, sad, and strained, like it’s the last barrier holding back all of his mysteries. He clears his throat, shaking his head and the smile falls with it. 

 

“Currently, we’re on track to the closest moon, one of those nameless fuel stations, you see. Many intergalactic ships stop there for petrol on voyages, we’re going to do the same because this ship won’t last too long, not if we’re trying to get you two back to your home. As for what I was doing on your Colony,” he grins mischievously, facing the open universe in front of him. It’s a new expression on his face, Chan thinks, but it fits all too well.  “I was just passing by, as one does. I took a scan of the ship’s vitals and knew it wasn’t going to end well. I was going to help with the evacuation, but my ship was damaged when the anti-grav started failing, and, now, here we are. Guess everything happens for a good reason, though.”

 

Chan sinks back into the chair.

 

The silence is like the answer to an unanswered question, taking over the room, consuming the noisy thoughts in his mind.

 

“Yeah, real good.”

* * *

Hansol doesn’t usually dream abstractly. Instead, he remembers. Some nights are happier than others, some nights are just mundane. 

 

When Hansol was a child, he loved his home. It had large buildings that went up into the domed surface, houses, schools, businesses all built around the Central Government Building. They were pristine, elegant shades of whites and greys with black accents, and maybe some gold as well, if the architect was really ambitious. The agricultural lands were to the east, close to the marketplace and food dispensaries. To the west were the shopping centers and entertainment centers. The north and south were uncharted territories, designated reservations for those without wealth. 

 

He often got scolded for venturing too far in those directions, but how could he help it, they always had the best music and food, and the shack-like houses always looked so colorful. He loved it there.

 

Then, he was taught that about the differences between peoples in the Colony. The mother planet was ravaged by devastation after being invaded by foreign species. In an effort to fight off these aliens, humans began testing on each other, though maybe it makes more sense to say that the rich tested on the poor, trying to create warriors to aid them in the raging war. It was for the safety of mankind, his teacher had insisted, unconvincingly. She was an augmented women with a disciplinary collar around her necks, a measure taken to protect the pure humans from being corrupted. Hansol remembers them never coming back, instead a meta, with the ability to change her size, was collared and dragged in, picking up the curriculum right where she left off. 

 

_ ‘They even allowed these experiments to retain their humanity, hence, why we have so many modified humans today. Augmented and mutant humans alike are have continued to serve in the Colony, to help further the human race, as they were designed to do.’ _

 

Modified humans were socially taught to be a paradox. That’s why his father was arrested when he was born, for miscegenation, or what was colloquially termed “the unlawful corruption of an NMH”, barring the fact that his parents were happily in love. 

 

He thought he’d see his father in twelve years, as was the sentence as determined by the judge. But the Colony does not keep a prison, only the vast, open galaxy, full of adventure and completely without air. 

 

At eighteen, he got a lowly administrative position at the Central Government Building, filing duty in the ship’s archive chamber. 

 

It paid poorly, but he was grateful nonetheless. It brought him a lot of happiness, in a way that government positions or merchant work could never. 

 

Hansol drifts in and out of consciousness, always choosing to forget what comes next, consistently deciding that it's easier to live in ignorance of his history than to confront his reality. 

 

“Hey, wake up,” the man shakes Hansol gently, “Bathroom break.”

 

He slowly rouses, blinking around to familiarize himself with his surroundings. It’s dimmer, but it gives off some semblance of normalcy seeing as how, if the circumstances were different, it would be night by now. Chan’s shut off, conserving energy while he recharges. But the man just sits in silence, navigating them through the open galaxy fearlessly, assuredly. He doesn’t sleep, Hansol notices. It’s like he doesn’t have to, not the way he does, and he doesn’t have government issued branding on his neck like Chan, so he doesn’t need to recharge. 

 

Hansol isn’t naive, he knows aliens exist. He would be foolish to believe otherwise, but to fathom the idea that this stranger could be nonhuman is somehow still beyond him. 

 

“I can  _ hear  _ your brain thinking, you know.”

 

Hansol jolts up, sheepishly grinning as he scrambles up to stand. 

 

“I’ve been told I zone out a lot. I just have a lot on my mind, I guess. How long have we been flying, anyway?”

 

The man snorts, “A couple days, now. You and your friend have been out like a light.”

 

That would explain why he feels so groggy. 

 

Hansol looks around, taking it all in. The shuttle is boarded on what seems like a small tourist planet. There are no native peoples, it seems, as every species is entirely different looking from each other. 

 

He has always dreamed of travelling the universe, spending so much time just reading about the intergalactic geographers who mapped out the universes as they travelled through the stars. Chan was always the more pragmatic one, the gravity that held him down when he spent too much time with his head in the clouds. 

 

“Does your friend need to go?” The man asks, as they wait in line for the restroom. 

 

_ The space toilet _ , his brain reminded him. 

 

“Chan should be fine. He’s got a bit more machine in him than most, so he doesn’t really need to go. Not that he doesn’t mind going, it’s just that because of the renegade efforts, he’s been in custody a lot and that means more experimentation. But, yeah, he can totally pee if he wants to, he just doesn’t have t- I’m going to stop talking now.”

 

The man barely bats an eye, “It’s interesting. You both seem to equate humanity with how much flesh is on your body.” He shrugs. “I always thought what made you human was on the inside.”

 

The line moves quite rapidly as a family of blue bird-men come out of a singular bathroom. His new friend hunches in on himself, watching them warily, and only straightens out when they finally are out of his line of sight.

 

“What’s the problem?”

 

“Those people, they’re not a particularly friendly sort. Well, not to me anyway,” his voice is incredibly serious, commanding Hansol’s attention in a sort of powerful way, “There’s a lot about this universe that you humans have yet to learn. It’s beautiful, seemingly never-ending, stretching across all of time and space, constant across all dimensions. But for every unsolved mystery held in the fabric of the stars, there’s a history, sometimes magical, sometimes sinister. And that’s the thing, isn’t it. You can never just have a good thing.”

 

Hansol hums, contemplating as they reach the front of the line. He isn’t sure what exactly to say to that, but it doesn’t ring true to him. Perhaps it’s his lack of cynicism or, maybe, just sheer naivety, but something about what the man says sets him off balance. 

 

He’s finally able to get into the bathroom, and when he turns around, he sees that the line is just as long as it was when he was at the back of it, and it’s sort of self satisfying but disheartening at the same time. Here, people of different species interact cordially, see each other equally, and it scares him that, when this man drops them back to the Colony, it will all be lost. 

 

But right now, he’s alright. Chan’s alright. And he has the opportunity to do something greater than slog nine to five for people who don’t care for him. Right now, he’s free, and that’s enough for him, sinister universe be damned. 

 

He gets out of the stall, clearing off to the side, waiting for his friend, who comes out only a few minutes later.  

 

They grab a few living essentials, food, water, a battery pack for Chan, and walk back to the ship. As they board the ship, Chan’s still asleep, head tilted at an odd angle and mouth open enough that there’s a little bit of drool down his chin. 

 

It’s then that Hansol indulges in his bad habit of speaking up, unprompted, unfiltered. 

 

“I think it’s all about perspective. We can only imagine things as being sinister if we’ve lived to experience what’s truly beautiful. Chan and I, this is beautiful to us. We’ve lived as mods for so long. That because we’re modified, we’re not capable of being authentic people, that we’re not worth having real experiences and reactions to life. For me, it doesn’t get any worse than that. It doesn’t get any worse than seeing my family broken, my friends hurting.” He pauses, thinking over his words carefully, but there’s assuredness there, an empowering sort of confidence. “The universe can do nothing more to me. It can’t break me more than my people already have. It’s gifting me freedom. It can only heal me now.”

 

“Enhanced,” the man says softly, with a small smile.

 

Hansol looks at him oddly. What does that have to do with anything?

 

“You’re enhanced,” he says again, “not modified.”

 

Enhanced, not modified. It is the implication of the words that give them worth. He likes it, being enhanced makes him feel alive and worth living. It is a liberating identity, free of expectation or instruction. 

 

He smiles at the man and the three of them take off into the stars once again. 

* * *

He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t help looking them up in their colony archives when they’re asleep. They’ve been flying together for weeks now, trying to find the just where New Earth’s civilization went, and he still knows so little about them. 

 

Well, that’s a lie. He knows a bit about them. Hansol, for instance, is very introspective, thoughtful and curious. He likes to cover his horns, despite how uncomfortable it makes him, not because he’s ashamed, but because he wants a chance for people to see him authentically. He likes to hum a lot as well, particularly when in the bathroom, but he has a good ear for tunes. Chan, on the other hand, is a little more of a mystery. He’s a good friend, unapologetic and loyal to a fault, though incredibly young. He thinks that maybe they’ve become a bit closer now, become more comfortable with each other, because sometimes he allows that youth to show, when he laughs and cracks jokes and when he becomes wonderstruck by foreign places and people. 

 

But, it’s not enough. He’s always been too intrusive for his own good but he wants to know more about his friends. 

 

Friends? He’d like to think they are, at least. 

 

Through some incredibly light digging, he learns that Hansol carries mutations only from his father’s side, and thus they aren’t as visible on his body. There are records of his hospital visits, for assault and weak health, and police reports and restraining orders filed for his protection. He was given something of the lowest position in the highest facility of the Colony, after countless donations to the government by his mother’s side of the family. Still though, it seems that he did okay for himself, in the long run. 

 

It’s kind of relieving. He worries for Hansol sometimes. 

 

Chan, on the other hand, doesn’t have many reports on record. Instead he has outstanding warrants for a large amount of petty crimes. School reports show him as being too opinionated and rebellious, too sharp and cunning for his own good. 

 

There’s something in Chan’s report though, that really catches his attention, a sentencing for a full memory wipe. The punishment is still pending so something must have happened in the four months that have passed, because Chan seems to still have all of his memories in tact. 

 

“You know,” he startles, abruptly turning around as Chan slips into the chair next to his, “If you wanted to know more about us, you could have just asked.” He pauses looking up at the scattered information about his life on the screens, “Or been more discreet about it.”

 

He rubs his head, “I’m sorry.”

 

Chan just shrugs, taking it upon himself to scroll through his file. “Well?” He prompts, eyes never leaving the screen.

 

“Well what?”

 

He sighs, pulling out a plug from his arm and wiring himself to the dash, downloading the information to his internal database. “Well, you must have questions, so ask one. And then I get one out of you.”

 

“Why were you issued a memory wipe?” He asks after careful deliberation.

 

There’s a silence, and he turns slightly to see Chan closing his eyes for what seems like eternity. “The Colony was supposed to be a paradise for all peoples. I guess our parents were too naive to realize we didn’t make the cut. Too much system, not enough flesh.” He pokes at himself, sadly. His face straightens out and he looks so worn down, so old despite his youth. “I don’t really know what it was like for mutants but we were given less resources, less access to tech, because the government wanted to keep us from revolting. And the only way to stop people from doing that would be to take away their autonomy.” 

 

“And that’s what the memory wipe is for,” Hansol emerges from his blanket cocoon, hair dishevelled and voice hoarse. “It’s an authorized deletion and rewrite of a person’s memories.” He scoots over to the two men in the chairs, still on the ground looking up at them. “There’s no archival procedure for the memories. They just get chucked into space, forgotten space junk for someone else to recover.”

 

The man lets out a low whistle. 

 

“Well fuck.”

 

It’s uncomfortable after that. No one knows where to proceed with the conversation, where it can organically proceed from there. 

 

“Ok, I have a question for you then,” Chan says clearing his throat. “What’s your name?”

 

The man twitches defensively, as if the question is offensive, painful even. 

 

“It’s-” he pauses, huffing incredulously, “It’s been a while since I’ve had to use a name. I think I used Boo. Or, no, wait, that doesn’t sound right.” He furrows his eyebrows, looking down at himself, “Seungkwan. Seungkwan Boo.”

 

Chan nods, pursing his lips. “Yeah, I believe that. You look like a Seungkwan.”

 

“What does that even mean,” Hansol asks teasingly, only to be flipped off by the former. “What are we doing anyway, twenty questions?”

 

Chan nods, “Yeah, except this is two on one, and Boo’s up.”

 

Seungkwan snorts to himself. “Yeah, that’s fine, let me just-” he reaches over to press a button and the pod makes a sort of grumbling sound, “-disengage the autopilot, it’s draining the systems batteries and we don’t have a backup generator so if it loses power in the middle of nowhere, we’d be stuck, running out of oxygen whilst drifting through space. Hm,” he grins at his friends’ shocked expressions, “Who knows? It could be exciting. No, wait, question. Okay, why were you and Channie,” he jabs his thumb at Chan as he flips some switches on the console and puts his hands on two and ten of the steering wheel. “Why were you two still on that ship? Did they leave you behind? Was it some kind of final act of rebellion? Or of loyalty to your home?”

 

His questions stumble out, one after the other, like he’s genuinely concerned for the two of them. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks, but the question gives off an air of protection. 

 

“We were helping with evac. NMHs got priority and boarded a lot of the escape pods, so we were trying to consolidate resources to help the mods who were forgotten.” Hansol shrugs, “So, yeah, I guess there wasn’t enough room or something, because by the time Chan and I got back from doing the final sweep, all the pods were gone. They left us behind, too.” He sighs, Seungkwan can see Chan look down out of the corner of his eye, “There isn’t much capacity for loyalty when you’re like us. Not to others, and certainly not to a home that imprisoned its people.” 

 

It’s painful to feel helpless, but it’s terrifying to actually be it. 

 

Seungkwan clears his throat, and his words falter for a moment.  

 

Chan saves him from having to speak, however, “That was four questions, by the way. So now we get four.” He raises four fingers, making to tick them off one by one, “Who are you?” 

 

The question is very Chan. He appreciates that. 

 

“Well, um, I guess for starters, it suffices to say that I’m not human. I would say alien, except, you two are the alien species to me, so there’s that.” He scratches his head, awkwardly. “I’m of a species that has no corporeal form, that has no attachment to labels like identity or name. I guess, my people are energy, in the purest sense, and we can harness energy and manipulate it also.”

 

“You’re a fucking alien, dude,” Hansol exclaims, smacking him on the shoulder, “That’s fucking awesome.”

 

Seungkwan grins, or at least he tries. He suspects it’s more like a lip twitch by the way their faces drop. 

 

“It’s okay. Or, it was, I guess. I don’t know, my memories get fuzzier the longer I stay in this form, because I’m not actually meant to.”

 

He’s carefully driving, hands clenched tightly as he turns the steering wheel, trying to get them to the next stopover planet as soon as he can.

 

“Then why do you,” Chan asks, softly, “If it fucks with your brain, takes away your memories- I just don’t get why you would stay this way.”

 

Seungkwan hums in acknowledgment. There is a sense of shame and apprehension that washes over him. Sharing his secrets always costs so much. 

“My race was a part of a purge, centuries ago. There was an alliance between different species, mine included, and we invaded planets and took their land, resources, people for our own gain. The purge really ended with my species and two others being wiped out in a kind of betrayal or, maybe, we betrayed the others? I don’t really remember, I was punished and exiled by that point anyway.”

 

“Punished why?” Hansol interrupts. 

 

“Punished  _ how _ ?” Chan says at the same time. 

 

Seungkwan finds it almost amusing how comically big their eyes are, kind of like he’s a new level on a game that they’ve finally unlocked but, at the same time, neither so selfish nor vain in their fascination. It’s like they genuinely care.

 

“Punished for not participating? For not killing? I don’t really care anymore. Physical forms are regressive, beneath my species. Being unable to just exist is the price I pay for my disloyalty. We’re a species that’s transcended names and labels and identity so I guess, this is the worst punishment someone could face, even worse than death,” He looks down at his legs for a brief moment, shrugging, “I guess, I was too proud to flee with the ones who opposed the purges but not willing enough to kill others myself. This form is my prison, until I die. Could be worse though, at least I’m good looking.”

 

There’s a red beeping sound that comes from the navigation system. 

 

He yelps, “That’s not good.”

 

“What’s not good,” Hansol says, throwing the blanket off of his body. 

 

“Well,” Seungkwan makes a face, “The chances of us making it to the next pitstop are kinda slim.”

 

“How slim is  _ kinda slim _ ?”

 

“Four percent,” he says unconfidently, “minus four percent?”

 

Chan screeches, “ZERO? We’re gonna fucking die, man. A space pirate is gonna loot are ship and tear me apart for pieces and the next thing you know, my brain will be transplanted into some murder bot and-”

 

“-and no one’s gonna die. The plan is pretty simple, okay,” Seungkwan points to a small planet in the distance, “There’s a planet we can land on up ahead. Hopefully, they’re nice enough to look past the fact that our pod is about to crash into their orbit, or they’ll try to shoot us down on sight. And if we survive that, they’ll keep trying to kill us and we’ll have to somehow steal a spaceship from them assuming they even have one. Simple.”

 

“I’m sorry, did you say we’re crashing?” Hansol’s voice is pitched too high, each word rising higher in tone. 

 

Seungkwan nods, purely running on adrenaline. This is a familiar feeling, a good, comfortable feeling. “Not yet. But we will be.”

 

Chan groans, “What is it with us and crashing all the goddamn time. For once, why can’t we just land safely. With all of our limbs intact. And our bladders not on the verge of collapse. Just once.”

 

The systems fail just as they pitch themselves into the planet’s atmosphere. The ship accelerates until it crashes into the ground, clearing a good patch of grass around them. 

 

Chan moans in pain, “Hansol, get your arm out of my face.”

 

“I would, but I don’t want to. Too much work.” He shifts off the younger anyway, while Seungkwan pushes open the emergency exit hatch. 

 

“We need to get out of here. Before these people realize they have stowaways.” He looks up at the building. There’s a big, foreign character attached to its side. It’s a little tacky, if Seungkwan is honest, but who is he to judge. “C’mon. Let’s move.” 

 

They stumble out of the broken ship, falling onto the grass. Seungkwan licks his finger and holds it up. “Lucky for us, the planet is habitable. So your little human skulls won’t implode from lack of oxygen.”

 

“Wow,” Chan deadpans, “What a relief.”

 

They make their way through the clearing, pushing past broken branches and over fallen trees. 

 

“Guys,” Hansol whispers excitedly.

 

Chan slaps his hand over the other’s mouth, “Don’t talk. You always jinx us.”

 

“Do not. Name one ti-”

 

“ _ Dude, we’re gonna get everyone off the ship before it explodes.” _

 

“Name two times.” Hansol grins, goodnaturedly. “Anyway, I was gonna say that no one has shot at us, yet. Doesn’t this mean we’re in the clear?”

 

Just then, an alarm goes off, red lights flashing around them.

 

“You just had to say something, didn’t you?” Chan grumbles, whacking his arm, while Hansol’s face seems to be stuck in a sort of panicky grimace. 

 

Seungkwan, on the other hand, looks at the two of them with a devious sort of grin.

 

“Well, boys,” he rubs his hands together, smirking, “Who’s ready to steal a spaceship.”

* * *

_ “Let it be known,” Chan calls out, from his outlet by the beds,“that if we ever have to pull shit like this again, I refuse to be the decoy.” His hands are flying over the screen on his arm which is hooked up to the navigation console _

 

_ Seungkwan laughs from his post on the steering deck.  _ _ “But you’re so good at it, Channie,” he teases. _

 

_ Hansol lobs a pillow at him, “Yeah, I mean, no one knows how to give the people what they want quite like you.” _

 

_ “Fucking offensive.” _

 

_ A green triangle pops up on the left console screen of their new ship.  _ _ Chan sits up, shooting finger guns at his friends, “I put a tracer on one of the pods before we left and I was finally able to hone in on its signal.” _

 

_ Seungkwan’s eyes wander to the screen, for a moment. He sighs, disappointed. He supposes this was always coming for them. That, at some point, they’d say farewell. _

 

_ “So, that’s home?” _

 

_ “No. That’s not home.” Hansol says decisively, “Not really.” _

 

_ Seungkwan bites back a smile, looking back at the two of them. “I promised you I’d return you, though.” _

 

_ There’s a silence, and he turns his attention back to the screen and shrugs.  _

 

_ “Well, I guess we could always take the long way around.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, once again! I really appreciate it! 
> 
>  
> 
> (Comments are always appreciated n op re es s u r e )


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